


Drowning

by colorfulCheshire



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Other, Pre-Relationship, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3715375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorfulCheshire/pseuds/colorfulCheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's awfully hard to stop thinking about how much more you like him than you initially thought you could, especially when he's sleeping across your room in your pile while you most certainly are not writing songs about him.</p><p>Just songs about how he makes you feel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowning

“ _Feeling like a fish out of vwater, and the air keeps getting hotter_ ,” your voice is low, barely audible to yourself over the rhythmic strumming of your guitar. You’re not sure of these words yet, or even if they’re going to become anything at all, so you can only mumble a few tries over a chord progression that’s been steadily building in your head for the better part of the evening.

The music is more a tool than inspiration on its own at the moment, a process that you’ve been trying to use to grasp at the words floating around in your head. You have an idea, something you want to _say_ , to _express_ , but you’re not really sure of what it is.

That’s a lie if you’ve ever heard one. You have a very good idea what it is that’s on your mind, but you don’t want to admit it. Your voice falls silent as your fingers continue to strum. You don’t really want to think about this, not with him so close . . . It won’t do you any good other than more heartbreak. Sitting on these words is better for you, and obviously better for him.

He’s asleep on a pile of pillows that you had alchemized long ago when you figured that human’s would build piles from their bedding (it was a logical deduction, really), and he’s still holding his open book against his chest, the dark Beforan sky of the cover standing nearly black against the vibrant red of his sweater. He looks as if he had just set it down for a moment to rest his eyes before time escaped him. You do that sometimes when you’re playing, but you’re far too aware of your surroundings with him around to sleep, even with how tired you feel.

It’s been some time since he’s passed out for his unplanned nap, something you had noticed some time ago while you were playing, but you didn’t have the heart to get up and wake him. He would apologize for sleeping when the two of you are supposed to be hanging out, and then excuse himself for the evening to return to his hive. You like him being here, though, even for just an hour more, and even if he’s sleeping soundly. It’s comfortable to be like this with someone, to have someone else comfortable enough to sleep like that.

So instead of waking him like a good friend, you continue to sit on your mattress on the floor and play your instrument, attempting to piece together the words floating through your mind. You were merely thinking on them quietly earlier when he was awake, but honestly, it’s much easier to get your thoughts down if you can hear how they sound. It’s hard enough as it is to try and think clearly anymore, at least when he’s around. You feel almost strangled by your own tongue, like drowning.

Hmm, that’s a good word, you think. You try again.

“ _Feeling like a fish out of vwater, and the air keeps getting hotter. And I think I finally know vwhat it feeeels like, to be drowvning._ ”

Yeah, that sounds about right, appropriate if not cliché. As a seadweller able to breathe easily on land or sea, you’ve never really had an idea of what it means to be breathless or choked up, well, other than the magic debacle . . . but you don’t go there. You have your music now. That’s real.

And so is Kankri, sleeping peacefully with his book in hand and his expression softer than you’re used to, which does a terrible number to your feelings. It seems to do wonders for your words, however, as you suddenly have a verse in your head that’s been trying to worm its way out for a while.

“ _In red. It’s allll I can see, ‘round you, and in me. We – could be-_ ”

You want to try, to ask, to dig, anything to see if there was a chance for you there, but you’re terrified. You don’t want to fuck things up by pursuing a relationship when he wants nothing to do with any quadrants. He’s your _only_ friend, and you’ll have nothing when you fuck this up, and you don’t know if you can deal with that.

You’ve dealt with romantic rejection for sweeps. You can push these feelings aside and wait for them to pass. You’re used to no quadrants, but thanks to Kankri, you’re no longer used to having no friends. You can’t fuck this up. Your words are too muddled even in your head, caught up in torrents and rushing away before you can figure them out. Even when you can sing, you feel like you might drown in them if you can’t get them out, but there’s nothing you can do but hold onto them.

You hit a couple of terrible-sounding dissonant notes, which shocks you from your thoughts, which is probably for the better since you’re not going to get anything else out of that spiral of despair, at least not right now.

“Cronus?”   Your head snaps up to see Kankri pushing himself more upright, eyes blinking heavily as he looks around the room. “How long have I been asleep?”

You release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the sudden fear leaving along with the tension in your spine. He just woke up, which is good for you. That last verse was a little too obvious for someone as perceptive as him . . .

“Hmm, not more than an hour or so, I vwas kinda busy playing so I didn’t really notice,” you answer with a casual shrug, setting your guitar down beside you. You can try playing again later after he’s left, which you know he’s about to-

“Well then, I apologize. I didn’t think I was so tired, but it was rude of me to just fall asleep like that without a warning to you.” He seems a bit fidgety as he usually does with these sorts of things, both of his hands leaving the book in his lap to smooth over his hair.

“Nah, chief, don’t vworry about it. I vwas just enjoying the company.” You grin and continue doing so even when he regards you with a pensive frown.

“I don’t really see how, but all the same, I should be getting home before it gets much later.” He stands and so do you, to follow him to the door as a proper host should, even though you don’t want to see him go. “Thank you, though, for letting me rest a while,” he says quietly out in the hallway.

“Hey, it vwas no problem, chief. I know vwhat it’s like.”

As the two of you say your goodbye’s and you leave the entrance light on for him, you’re hit with the urge to tell him, to spill everything, and even though the feeling is far stronger than it has been when you first noticed it a half-a-perigee ago, you smile as you always do and wave him off. Only after you close the door do you the words hit you for the next verse, as obvious as they should be.

 _“I can’t breathe._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> A late-night drabble/fic after three days of being unable to put thoughts on other projects down into words. Fun fact! I actually have a tune for his lyrics and idea for a later verse because I'm trash.
> 
> Thoughts? Comments? Even simple things? Comments are always lovely, as they let me know what to keep doing and trying, ya know?
> 
>  **Note:** In dialogue, I only add Cro's quirk where the 'w' or 'v' sound are _pronounced_ so you will not see his speech quirk in dialogue like "two" or "who". There is no phonetic 'w' there.


End file.
